It's only fair that I warn you that besides Beethoven, I also adore Paul Simon. Paul Simon is fortunate that I never had political ambitions, because if I had ever been elected President, he would have to go. That guy always seemed to know exactly how I felt. My partner John, I call him John because that is his name, although I never go to the Men's Room, which should clue you in to the level of humor that is almost always prevalent unless a client is within earshot, and then, it depends on the client.
Every day, I get e mails generated by the computer. An example was when I got fourteen (14) different e mails, a third of them from the Managed Accounts Department. The complaint was that there wasn't a signed contract for the person with the account. This contract is 27 pages long. The account was for John's mother. Two days before, the account had successfully transferred from another brokerage house. The day before, a person in the Managed Accounts Department had called, and asked if the Manager could sell the transferred portfolio and construct a new portfolio. I said that it was fine (it was in an IRA and hence not taxable, and there are a lot of other reasons). Today, they couldn't rebuild the portfolio because there wasn't a signed contract, everything else was seemingly OK????
I then called the guy who I had talked to the day before who had asked for the authorization to liquidate, and he said that he couldn't find the contract, and hence, the portfolio couldn't be reconstructed. I told him I'd fax him a copy. I then called a different person in the same Managed Accounts Department, but she's the one I had learned to call when I wanted to get something actually done. I asked her for John's mother's contract. She said, give me a moment, I just saw it a little while ago. Let me call you back when I find it.
An hour later, she faxed me the signed contract, complete with her Departmental cover sheet. I then generated fourteen different fax cover sheets,and faxed the 27 page document to 14 different people, before starting on the next 'problem' for the day. These things happen sporadically throughout the day. Not all are as stooooooopid as this one, but enough are. Days like this, Paul Simon wrote "The Boxer" for us. I'm waiting for my "Ode to Joy" Day. Or maybe that's what sex is for?
If you live in Tenn., please speak up and let everyone know you're OK, and we'll do the Hallelulah Chorus!